The Birds and the Bees
by LyricalSinger
Summary: Sherlock finally loosens his control and learns that a true friend accepts you for who you are. A/N: Written back in September, I am finally getting around to posting it here. Be aware that this story is about the sexual kink melissaphilia (arousal to bees and wasps).


A/N: This was written back in September as one of the Weekly Writing Challenges on _The Heart of Camelot_ site. The challenge was to write about a character with an unusual/bizarre sexual fetish. The kink I chose is: Melissaphilia (arousal to bees and wasps). Needless to say, it had 'Sherlock' written all over it! Beta'ed by sarajm.

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The Birds and the Bees

The first time it happened, it was the summer of his fourteenth year. He was "growing like a weed", as Father had put it, all arms and legs, with acne on his cheeks and a voice that couldn't decide if it wanted to be a tenor or a baritone.

Sherlock was sitting at the back end of their property with a notebook, a pencil, a pack of colouring pencils and a bottle of water, studying the bees that clustered around the wildflowers his mother had planted.

Bees were _fascinating_ creatures; their lives were orderly, with each one performing their job for the benefit of the collective. Their method of communication was unlike anything he'd ever seen before and the vast array of species of _apis_ was simply astounding. And let's not forget that, like any boy with a sweet tooth, Sherlock was particularly fond of the fruits of their labour.

Young Sherlock was sitting quietly, leaning back against the old willow that was the king of the back garden, when something untoward began to occur. Surrounded by the buzz of the bees and sketching the differences between _apis mellifera_ and _bombus terrestris_ , suddenly the youth discovered that he was experiencing a … physical … reaction to his environment.

Now, being a teenager, and a genius one at that, Sherlock clearly understood the mechanics of sexual arousal. He felt his skin flushing, his heart rate increasing and his breathing becoming heavier. Moving his notebook from where it was leaning on his knee, he glanced down to see the beginnings of an erection tenting his trousers.

Knowing that at this stage in development, it was normal for males to experience often inopportune reactions to stimuli, Sherlock simply lay back under the tree and catalogued his reactions while at the same time trying to determine what, exactly, had sent his hormonal system into overdrive.

It took two years, several experiments and a great deal of research before Sherlock finally came up with name for his 'condition': Melissaphilia - arousal to bees and wasps.

Maybe he really was the freak that his fellow students thought he was.

By the time Sherlock was 34 years old, he had developed such discipline over his mind and body that he was able, for the most part, to ignore his melissaphilia. He was still fascinated by bees and their society, but his self-control was such that even when he had to spend five hours at an apiary searching for a flash drive that had been hidden in one of the hives, he exhibited no physical response other than slightly elevated breathing.

Still, there were times when he allowed his body its autonomy. He was stretched out on the sofa in the sitting room of 221B one evening, watching a documentary on beekeeping and bee colony collapse disorder. John was out at the pub with Lestrade watching the game, so Sherlock didn't bother reining in his reactions to the bees flitting about on the screen. It was freeing, in a way, feeling the increase in heart rate, the flushing of his skin and the stiffening of his penis.

Lying there, with his body at the mercy of physical sensation and his mind submersed in the documentary, Sherlock didn't hear the front door open or John climbing the stairs. It was only when the door to the sitting room opened and he heard a quiet "Oh" that Sherlock realize he was no longer alone.

Embarrassed, he quickly sat up and grabbing the pillow that had been behind his head, placed it on his lap.

"John! Um … I wasn't expecting you home this early."

"Ah, yeah," answered John as he stared at his friend, "the game was a blow-out." Looking from his friend, who was now red-faced and shifting uncomfortably on the sofa, to the telly, John cleared his throat and said, in a gentle tone, "So … um … is there something you want to tell me? You don't have to. I mean, it's none of my business, but …"

The mortified consulting detective raised his head from where he had been intently studying the floorboards and glanced over at his friend. He was expecting to find shock or disgust in the man's expression, but instead he found the same fond and slightly exasperated expression that usually graced the good Doctor's face when dealing with the detective.

Clearing his throat, Sherlock muttered, "Melissaphilia."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Melissaphilia – arousal to bees and wasps."

"Ah, okay then." Taking off his jacket and tossing it onto his chair, John added, "So, fancy a cuppa?"

The non sequitur surprised the dark-haired man and he replied, "Do I fancy a _cuppa_?! What, aren't you shocked or disgusted by me?"

John looked fondly over at his friend and said, "Nah. Really, Sherlock, you seem to forget I'm a doctor and I was a soldier. I've heard of, and seen the results of, more kinks than you can imagine."

Walking into the kitchen and flicking on the kettle, he called back, "Remind me to tell you about Lt. Sauders and his thing for trees one day!"


End file.
